Unworthy
by November Ashes
Summary: Isabela comes to terms with her feelings about Hawke. F!Hawke/Isabela


Her skin prickled with cold sweat, accentuated by the knot that twisted her insides. Ahead of her, Anders and Varric shared the weight of the Champion, and the taller man blocked her view. But each watery cough caused her heart to seize. Hawke was dying, and it was her fault.

The streets of Hightown were littered with corpses, some charred and still smoking from the Circle mages intervention with the Qunari assault. Isabela stumbled over one such body and nearly fell, so intent was she on the figure being carried ahead of her. The acrid stench wafted up and stuck in the back of her throat, nearly causing her to gag.

At her side, Merrill wrapped a hand under her bicep, helping her right herself and kept it there when she saw the hollow expression on the pirate's face.

"Don't worry about Hawke, Bela... She can't die."

The elf hoped her tone sounded reassuring, but the way the pirate's haunted amber eyes snapped to her face and the growl she made as she swiped at the offending wetness on her cheeks made her worry she'd said something wrong again. Merrill chewed her lip, casting an anxious look at the ex-Warden's back as they rounded the corner to the Amell estate.

Aveline walked with a clipped pace, occasionally shouldering one of the many frightened citizens of Kirkwall out of the way ahead of her friends. As they neared Hawke's home, she jogged ahead and hurriedly unlocked the door, throwing it to the side and allowing the dwarf to move past holding Hawke's legs while Anders supported her upper body carefully.

As they moved up the stairs, the guard captain stepped in front of Isabela, arms folded across her chest.

"Anders will be busy enough trying to keep her alive; he doesn't need _you_ in the way." She snarled. The pirate felt her face flush, anger allaying her guilt for a moment. "I need to see her. I have to know that she's alright." "She's _not_ alright. Because of you, _nothing_ is alright anymore. This entire city has _you_ to thank for its fate tonight."

Merrill's eyes narrowed as she stepped up beside the pirate. "That's not fair, Aveline. She didn't know this would happen." "The hell she didn't. You can feign ignorance of politics all you like, but a blind nug could have foreseen what the Qunari would do. And worse, you show back up to stir the pot even more. Half of Kirkwall lies dead because of your greed, and if Hawke dies, _her_ blood will be on your hands, too!"

Isabela felt sick, but she was too angry to let this pompous, self-righteous ass know that. Fighting back tears, she glared with all the malice she could muster at the guard captain. "I'm not leaving until I know she's okay. To hell with what you think."

Aveline moved a hand to rest on the hilt of her sword. "And _I'm_ not letting you interfere with her recovery. If she _can_ recover..." She couldn't help but twist the knife a bit with her words, seeing the pirate's eyes water despite her efforts.

Beside her, Merrill had upturned her hand, a glittering ball of lightning forming in her palm. Aveline stiffened and fixed her with a cold glare. "So you would take the side of the woman who almost got your best friend killed?" The elf narrowed her gaze, all pretense of naiveté gone. "Isabela is my friend too, and I know she would never hurt Hawke on purpose. It's not your place to keep her away."

The spell grew, but flickered as Isabela put a restraining hand on the elf's forearm. "It's not worth it, Kitten. Lady Man-Hands can't be here all the time. I'll be back to check on her. You will _not_ keep me from her."

The acquiescence hurt her pride, but fighting Aveline right now wouldn't do Hawke any good. And she couldn't keep her strong facade up for much longer anyway.

Everything Aveline had said had been true.

It was nothing she hadn't told herself, but it hurt even more to hear it from someone else.

Troubled steps led her, of course, to the Hanged Man, the elf still on her heels. Though she had wanted the time to fall apart on her own, she couldn't bring herself to send Merrill home. If felt good to have someone on her side, even though she didn't deserve it.

So she bought the woman a pint of ale and let her attempt to keep her mind off things for a couple of hours. Finally Varric had trudged in wearily, his face as drawn as she suspected a dwarf's expression could get. She felt his eyes on her back, but she couldn't meet his gaze. Merrill got up and hurried to meet him.

"Is Hawke alright, Varric?" Isabela tried not to let it show how much she strained to hear his answer to the elf's question, but she felt her body stiffen as she held her breath. "She's sleeping right now. Anders went back to his clinic to rest, but he got the worst of her wounds closed. He said he could tell better tomorrow, but she should be fine." He smiled tightly, patting Merrill's shoulder reassuringly. She smiled at him hopefully. "I told Bela she would be okay. Hawke's a hero, after all." His expression flickered, but he gave her a nod anyway.

It pulled at his heartstrings the way the elf looked up to Hawke so much, as though she were some sort of deity. He only hoped she never found out how mortal she truly was. He fought to keep the fear he felt out of his eyes when he recalled how the Champion's heart had stopped twice during Anders' healing ministrations and the pallor of her skin at the sheer amount of blood loss. It had run out in rivulets when they had pulled off her breastplate, the Arishok's sword having gone clean though the metal.

"Give me a second, Daisy, and I'll walk you home." At the elf's nod, he walked the few steps to their table and faced the pirate's back. He reached out a hand and placed it on her shoulder, registering the tension in the dark-skinned woman. "How is she _really_, Varric?" He sighed and moved to her side, leaning on the table with both hands. "I am…_amazed_ that she made it back to the estate alive. But Anders really seems to have pulled it off. I think she'll live." Isabela closed her eyes, letting her head hang in relief before the guilt washed over her again. She gripped her mug tightly and lifted it, draining the contents.

Varric shook his head, a faint introspective smile tugging at his lips. "It'll make for a hell of a story... That's for sure." Isabela scoffed, wiping at her eyes again. Why, after so many years, was she crying so much now? "What... How the pirate whore stole a stupid book, put the entire city of Kirkwall under the wrath of the Qunari and self-righteously strolled back expecting cheers for her selflessness, and consequently got the Champion of Kirkwall skewered like a boar for trying to save her worthless ass?" She tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a sob.

Varric gave her a long-suffering grin and clasped his hands in front of him.

"No... How the pirate queen returned despite her fear due to the Champion's influence, in attempt to get the Qunari to leave after the underhanded tactics of _Chantry extremists_ caused them to march on the city..."

He paused meaningfully, to which the pirate shrugged and stared into her mug, "and how the Champion challenged death itself to single combat to save her love."

The pirate's eyes snapped open, and she fixed him with a wide-eyed stare. He ignored her expression, still gazing ahead sightlessly with a smile and sighed. "Ahh...I do love a good romance."

Isabela sputtered, trying to regain her composure. "Oh please, Varric... She would have done the same for any one of you. Don't read anything into it." She glowered into the bottom of her empty mug. Of all the stupid...

"But she _didn't_ do it for any of us... She did it for _you_. And she gave you the relic without a second thought, even though she knew it was selfish and even with Aveline breathing down her neck to give it over to the Qunari. That says something. But anyway. Hawke will be fine, Rivaini. You should go see her tomorrow." He patted her back and straightened, heading over to the somewhat tipsy elf. "Come on, Daisy... Let's get you home."

Isabela watched them go, then dug a few silvers from her coin purse and set them on the table before heading anxiously to her room. What did Varric know? As if she didn't have enough to worry over, he had to go dump _that_ on her, too. So what that she had promised her the relic. They were _friends_, after all. And she really _would've_ challenged the Arishok over any one of her companions. She truly believed that. Hawke was just too loyal to let someone come between her and her friends. To a fault, it seemed.

The pirate shook her head at the last thought. Here she was blaming the one person who had ever treated her like she was something more than a cur. Hawke's condition was most assuredly _her fault_.

She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes again and squeezed them shut in frustration. "Damn and blast..." She muttered, finally closing the door to her room behind her with a feeling of utter relief. She leaned back against it and let out a shaky breath. But what if Hawke _did_ love her? What was she supposed to do about that? What if that _had_ been the reason she almost died to save her? How did that make her feel?

_I __**told**__ her not to do that... I told her I didn't __**do**__ love... _Her automatic defense mechanism responded.

Isabela shook her head vigorously, as if that could dispel the notion. She moved to the small desk situated against the wall and removed the battered chair from it, dragging it to the window and sitting down, staring out into the darkness to wait for morning.

The lock turned over with minimal effort, and the pirate managed a wry look as she tucked her tools back into her corset. After a couple of hours casing the Amell estate, she knew that Anders had come and gone, which she took to be encouraging of Hawke's condition. Aveline had also finally retired to the Viscount's keep after an animated argument with the green-eyed elf, probably on her behalf.

It had caused a self-deprecating smile to tug at her lips to see the normally agreeable and tender-hearted elf morph into a snarling wolverine when it came to defense of her two best friends.

She entered the estate and quietly pulled the door shut behind her and re-locked it, for all the good it did. She grinned faintly remembering the debate she'd had with Hawke over the lack of security and the disarming laugh it had earned her. She pushed it to the back of her mind when Merrill came out of the kitchen.

"Oh, Bela! I knew you'd be by. I was going to fix Hawke something to eat for when she wakes up. She's still asleep, even after all the arguing! I thought surely I would have woken her up when I knocked Anders over the head with my staff. He's so vile! I don't know how she can stand him, what with all his... Sorry. Anyway, you can go on up and see her if you want." The elf flushed after her rambling tirade and gave Isabela an abashed look.

The pirate gave her a quirky grin and pulled her into a hug. "I'm glad you're here to stand up for her, Kitten. And...me too. It means a lot."

"Oh, it wasn't just you he was being cruel about, lethallan." Merrill rubbed the back of her head when they separated, trying to hide a blush. "He's not terribly fond of me, either. What with the...blood magic. But anyway, it's only words. I shouldn't have hit him, but..." Isabela had to laugh at the mental image of the soft spoken elf whacking the taller man with her staff. "You are too cute for words... He had it coming, don't you fret." She gave the woman a pat on the arm. "I suppose... But you should go on up, maybe she's awake now. I'll be up in a bit with lunch."

She wasn't sure how long she stood in the doorway, watching the occupant of the bed's even breathing. A wash of emotion came over her that she didn't quite know what to do with, seeing the fair, dark-headed woman lying there, looking so frail. Unnerving, that was one of the errant feelings.

This woman, who was always so strong. Always rushing to the rescue of some helpless peasant or undeserving noble, or one of their friends. Her plate armor gleaming and greatsword flashing, the look in her bright blue eyes the same she had seen on wolves about to attack. _Feral_. But there was something else there, too... Something twisting in her chest when she looked at her that she couldn't bring herself to acknowledge.

The few steps to the bed felt like miles, and finally she was kneeling on the soft surface over the Champion. Under the lids, her eyes fluttered, like she was having a vivid dream. She hated to wake her, but the feeling in her chest... She had to see into her eyes. She had to know, despite her instincts screaming for her to run and not look back.

"Hawke?"

She brought a hand, ever so delicately to brush against her cheek, feeling the heat of a fever even at the light touch. "Marian?" Finally, after a few agonizing moments, the lids fluttered open, revealing the brightest blue eyes the pirate had ever seen. Blinking a few times, recognition finally colored Hawke's face and she smiled wearily.

"You never call me that... I must be dead." Her voice was raspy, but still held a hint of amusement.

Isabela barked a laugh, relief flooding her. It dawned on her that she had been expecting Hawke to be angry with her and throw her out, but some chiding voice in her heart told her she had known better.

"You're such a fool, Hawke..." She sighed, pulling her hand back rapidly when she realized the errant appendage was still stroking the woman's cheek. Hawke chuckled at the reaction. "But we both already knew that. Didn't think you'd still be hanging around..."

Isabela searched her eyes, and what she saw frightened her. Varric had been right, sod him... "Had to make sure our favorite Champion of Kirkwall was on the mend first. Who else can pull it all out of the fire when the world goes to shit?" She slipped easily behind her facade, but inside she was panicking. She sat up almost too quickly. She had to get some space between herself and this woman. This woman who had fallen for her, despite everything.

"Bela..."

"Hawke... Don't."

Hawke struggled to sit up, wincing, but was finally able to get herself upright. "Bela... Why did you come back? I know you said it was my influence but..."

Icy tendrils of fear had crept into her chest, yet her feet remained rooted to the floor. Why was Hawke asking her this? Damn her... "Why? How about you tell me why you have to go and play the big damned hero? Always stepping up, always taking the fall...It's damned irritating an-and…_demeaning_, Hawke; if anyone should have fought for my freedom, it should have been me and you know it. To the Void with their stupid honor." She injected all the venom into her words she could muster, her expression cold.

Hawke ignored the contemptuous rant and watched her pace with a faintly bemused expression. "I think... You came back because you knew it was the right thing to do. Because for all your posturing, you really are a good person. I think your heart is your best quality, and it makes me sad to see you hide it. I think you really do care about people."

Isabela stopped pacing and fixed her with an incredulous look. "Is _that_ what you think?" She darted a look to the door before being held captive again by those damn, blight-take-them brilliant blue eyes. Eyes which watched her quietly, knowingly... Isabela felt her temper begin to snap. How _dare_ she presume to...to make her feel...like this again...

"I didn't do it for _them_... I did it for _you_. It was _always_ about you."

With that, she turned and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her and leaving Hawke gaping after her.

She thumped down the stairs, not bothering to hide the tears streaming down her cheeks as she passed Merrill, who was on her way up with a lunch tray but stopped short seeing the look in her eyes. "Bela?" "Take care of her, Merrill." With that, she stalked out the front door, the sound of Hawke calling her name fading behind her.

Three years had passed. Hawke was no doubt living up to her shiny new title. Again, she cursed herself for not being able to forget. For not enjoying her freedom for even one minute since she left Kirkwall. For remembering the look in those blue eyes when she'd said-... Isabela downed another shot of whiskey, slamming the glass on the bar and waving the tavern keeper over when she'd gotten his attention. "Another."

For a moment, it was like when they first met. The pirate was even at her same place by the bar, when the Champion walked in with her same companions. But she couldn't help but notice…Hawke didn't carry herself with the same cockiness she used to. She looked so...haunted. The pirate indulged herself a few more moments before she was spotted to relish the fluttering in her chest she'd worked damn hard to stamp out for years. If she couldn't forget, and couldn't be happy... Then she'd damn well go with it. Isn't that what people did, when they couldn't run anymore?

She kept her eyes fixed on her shot glass, but every nerve in her body was alive and tracking Hawke's every movement. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the way the Champion stiffened when she finally saw her, and the way she hesitated before giving in and walking over with that rolling gait the pirate admired. She allowed only a few uncomfortable moments before breaking the silence, taking pity on Hawke who was no doubt groping for an opening.

"Don't seem so surprised...I'm beginning to make this running back thing a habit." The look on Hawke's face was a strange mix of anger and veiled elation. "Keep making it a habit and a girl will start to get the wrong idea." Hawke growled. Isabela felt herself starting to grope for her defenses she'd always fallen on, but decided to just give up the act. "It depends on what the idea is." She stated, with a poignant smile.

Hawke's jaw worked for a minute, and she finally exhaled a long breath, leaning against the bar beside the pirate and raking a gauntleted hand through her now-shoulder length hair. "So... What, now you're back to tell me what a sodding idiot I am? Believe me, I've been telling myself that same thing for three years. Congratulations on proving me wrong, Isabela. You don't care. I get it. You have to show up to rub it in?"

The pirate narrowed her eyes, and threw back another shot of whiskey, grunting to clear her throat and give her a moment to compose herself. Hawke had every right to be angry with her, and her leaving surely had to seem like she was trying to make a statement. It hadn't been the most clear of messages, even to her.

Stifling the impulse to trade blow for blow, Isabela fiddled with her empty glass. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry I left. I did it because it's what I always do. Beyond that, even I don't know." She let the silence lengthen while Hawke thought over her admission. "Plan on staying for a while?" Hawke asked lightly, but her eyes betrayed her hope, even after everything. It made the pirate's heart hurt just a little more.

"If you need me, I'll be here."

With that, the Champion nodded and headed to the door, leaving Isabela alone with her thoughts.

Heading out on new adventures and facing new lows of political injustice helped to dampen the tension and ease Isabela back into her place within the group.

She'd slipped back into her role as the lewd and boisterous jester, but allowed her true emotions reign more easily than she used to, finding herself content to be back among her friends and more particularly among the group's formerly unwilling leader. The change in Hawke was most profound to Isabela, having remembered her often using levity to hide her discomfort at making hard decisions.

Morality had been such a fluid thing back then, when things were...not exactly black and white but had fewer shades of gray, and the often rebellious warrior was seemingly content to follow the path that brought her and her friends the most advantage.

She was different now.

She seemed...harder. More inclined to put her foot down and while she was still quick to rise to the defense of her companions, she seemed a little distant and cautious. As though her every choice was under terrible scrutiny, which in truth it probably was.

The political scene in Kirkwall had grown more militaristic and hostile. The tension between the templars and the mages had grown by leaps and bounds and Kirkwall's Champion always had to be there to rein it in before their vastly opposing ideals could come to blows.

Still, she managed to make time for her friends, and most nights they would go to their favorite table at the back of the Hanged Man and just enjoy each other's company until the wee hours of the morning. It was those times Isabela could forget how time had changed the world they lived in and one another and she could still see glimpses of the mischievous rebel soldier who had captured her heart from the day they'd met.

The pirate was done denying that fact to herself, but hadn't found a way to approach Hawke. Or perhaps she was just terrified that time had eroded the feelings Hawke had for her, and she was waiting to drum up the courage to find out.

With the mounting pressure from the Templars and the Mages on her friend, she hesitated to ask for her help when Castillon showed up in Kirkwall until her nerves had gotten to the point that even Merrill putting a friendly hand on her arm at the market caused her to jump and reach for a dagger.

So now here she was, pacing in her room, waiting anxiously for Hawke to show up and hoping she'd still be willing to lend a trusting hand to her frivolous ex-lover when she'd bitten it so many times before.

Hawke arrived exactly at the time she said she would and they eyed each other for a moment, Isabela nervously twirling her rings and Hawke fidgeting a little on her feet. It was an odd gesture for a woman bedecked in full plate and Kirkwall livery, seeming the very image of confidence and dignity. It occurred to the pirate, once again, that they hadn't been alone together in the same room since Isabela had come back from her three year hiatus. It caused a twinge in her chest to realize Hawke was nervous because of _her_.

"Hawke, I... I asked you here because... I need your help. I know I have no right to ask, but..."

The taller woman seemed to relax a little, slipping back behind her guise as the Champion of Kirkwall. "What's the matter?" She was all business now, and Isabela was both relieved and disappointed.

"Castillon is in Kirkwall. I can't get to him, but I have it on good authority that his right hand is at the Blooming Rose tonight."

"So you have a plan to get to him?"

Isabela resumed her pacing, a little slower this time. "Well... I thought I could challenge him to a game of twenty questions and make 'Where's your boss?' one of the questions." She chuckled disparagingly to herself, eyeing Hawke from beneath her eye lashes. Hawke gave her one of her trademark smirks, crossing her arms across her chest. "Brilliant. I like it. However, I thought we could use you as bait instead."

The pirate stopped and unfocused her gaze for a moment. "That's good. Great, in fact. You could take me to him under pretense of retrieving the bounty and follow me right to Castillon. But we need to be quick; I don't know how long he'll be there." Hawke had been looking down at the floor for a few moments and she finally nodded. "I'll call for the others. Meet me downstairs."

And before the pirate could say another word, Hawke had left. She let out a breath and fixed her eyes on the door Hawke had recently exited. "Thanks..." She said quietly, gathering her few belongings before departing.

Everything went exactly according to plan. Velasco had taken the pirate to the docks to await his boss while Hawke followed the trail Isabela left. She arrived with Aveline and Merrill in tow and the four had proceeded to make quick work of Castillon's lackeys. Everything was fine up until Castillon showed up and Isabela offered him a deal.

"What? Why can't you ever surprise me in a good way? Like with flowers? Or a cake?" Hawke muttered.

Isabela couldn't look at her, still a little shocked herself at the idea that had popped into her head. It had seemed so obvious to her when she saw the papers Aveline had found on one of the guards. Plans to expand his slavery ring to the Free Marches. Damning evidence. She could blackmail Castillon, get his ship, and he would leave the Free Marches never to return. Everyone wins. Except the furrow in the Champion's brow told her it would be wrong to let this slaver get away.

"I see I am not the only one who's been played today…" The slave trader groused.

"Isabela… What makes you think you can trust him?" The pirate finally met her eyes, crossing her arms across her chest. "Castillon is a business man, and this is a business deal."

"I swear… You give me the papers, take the ship and I'll never bother you again." Hawke dropped her eyes, her face drawn in anger. "Hawke. Don't let this man get away with what he's done. The people he sold out could have been _us_, for Maker's sake!" Aveline growled, reaching for her shoulder with the intent of turning her around. Hawke shrugged off her touch, still seething.

She focused a narrow gaze at Castillon. "_If_ you should decide to return… I will make it my life's goal to hunt you down and personally throw you in the darkest part of the Deep Roads I can find." She shoved the papers at the pirate's chest with a snarl. "Have your blighted _boat_."And with that, she turned and stalked away.

Aveline bellowed in frustration, throwing her hands up and stomped off in another direction. Merrill watched them go pensively. Isabela dared not look up, but sniffed introspectively and smoothed the papers out before handing them to the slave trader. "Leave. Now."

It had been several days before Isabela finally found the courage to seek the Champion out. She had busied herself with moving onto her new ship and getting the last of Castillon's questionable properties out. Now she sat at a small table in the Hanged Man near the fireplace, anxiously scraping her thumbnail against the rim of her clay mug.

The door opened again, and for the nth time she sought the person coming through the door. Finally, her eyes found the one she was waiting for and she glanced back down nervously as heavy footsteps drew closer.

"Uh... Good. You're here…"

Hawke sat down wearily in the chair across from the pirate, resting her forearms on the table. "As promised. So do I get the grand tour?" She asked in a clipped tone.

"I thought you'd had it… Oh, you mean the ship…" Isabela chuckled nervously. "I'm still working on it. Castillon had a rather unflattering affinity for mustard-colored drapes." She lifted her eyes briefly and met Hawke's, but looked away uncomfortably. "I know you must… still be angry with me for letting him go."

Hawke gazed at the pirate's downturned head for a few moments, letting her thoughts simmer before finally releasing a drawn-out breath. "You know… I was. _Really_ was. But I've been doing some thinking. You've been stuck here in Kirkwall a long time and I know you miss the sea. It's been your goal for as long as I've known you, to have a ship again. I guess I shouldn't have been surprised. And with everything else that's going on… I really don't have the time or, Maker help me, the energy to worry over one at-large slave trader."

Isabela relaxed her posture slightly, still idly fidgeting with her mug. "You know… Now that I have a ship, I find that I really don't want to leave. Everything I want is here… _You're_… here. And…" Her heart hammered away in her chest, and she didn't dare look across the table. Here it was, the moment she'd been anticipating and dreading for so long. "I think…no…I _know_… that I've fallen for you."

She finished quietly, feeling the other occupant of the table go very still. "Just…tell me, Marian… If I still have a chance with you." A few agonizing moments passed, with the pirate staring pensively at her trembling hands folded on the table before her.

The voice in her head, the cynical one that had served her so well for so long chastised her for thinking she could ever expect someone like Hawke to be with someone like her. Hawke was a champion, a hero. Heroes didn't fall for worthless smuggler whores. She hated herself all the more for the tiny hope that had kindled in her chest, making her believe she _could_ be something more. More like the person she thought Hawke could see when she looked into her eyes. How foolish…

She was so caught up in her thoughts, she barely registered a warm hand covering her own. She closed her eyes against the impending denial, unconsciously holding her breath.

"I… You…have no idea how long I've waited to hear you to say that…"

Finally, the pirate lifted her gaze to the sincere blue eyes watching her with a profound sense of... Relief. Disbelief. So many feelings vied for dominance in that moment that she couldn't let just one take precedence. Unconsciously, her fingers twined with the Champion's, her body seemingly acknowledging the admission before her mind. Finally, a tiny smile began to turn the corner of her lips.

"Promise… you won't run off and break my heart." Hawke breathed, only half-joking. The same vulnerability that Hawke had shown the first time they slept together reared its head at the veiled plea, the same vulnerability that had at first terrified the pirate but now invoked a sense of fierce protectiveness.

"I won't if you don't give me a reason to." But some insecurities died hard.

Hawke gave a cocky grin, the kind the pirate remembered first seeing years ago on a young, ambitious refugee. "I think I can manage that."

The scant distance the table imposed seemed too great suddenly, and Isabela stood to close the distance between herself and the Champion of Kirkwall. Never releasing her grip on Hawke's hands, she pulled her too her feet and brought them face to face. "I love you, Marian Hawke. Don't make me regret it."

Hawke brought her hands up, gently cupping Isabela's face and feeling the pirate's arms slide around her waist. "You won't." They kissed tenderly, both an acceptance and a promise, then deepening as desire flooded through them.

"Still have your room here?" Hawke asked on a ragged breath when they separated. The pirate chuckled throatily and took her by the hand. "Thought you wanted the grand tour of my new ship?" Hawke laughed. "At the moment I'll settle for just the tour of the captain's quarters…"

Isabela sighed happily, leading her Champion from the tavern and making their way to the docks. The world _might_ be going to shit, but tonight, hers had finally been made complete. And a wayward pirate had finally come home.

_Fin-_


End file.
